


I'm Waiting For It

by selfinduced



Series: those great whites they have big teeth [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Clizzy - Freeform, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 20:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11974695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfinduced/pseuds/selfinduced
Summary: Isabelle's not good at feelings. Or healthy coping mechanisms.





	I'm Waiting For It

Clary finds her at Pandemonium. "There's a mission. You haven’t been answering your phone. Again."

Isabelle sways drunkenly at her, "There. Is. _Always_ a mission Clary. Lighten up. You used to be fun."

She doesn't lighten up, of course, eyes flashing brightly under the moving lights in the club. Turns to the tall redhead pressing up behind Isabelle's back, kissing her neck. "Leave."

Isabelle protests but Clary might as well have _incantoed_ her, the seelie leaves so fast. Clary's become quite the shadowhunter these days. 

 

"Do you see what you're doing? The fact that she's 5'5" with red hair and green eyes doesn't strike you as significant? You don't think I can see it?" Clary's face goes from anger and flashing eyes to vulnerable mouth for a second before she clenches her jaw again determinedly. "Heal yourself so you can sober up." 

Izzy rolls her eyes and takes out her stele. Standing up straighter and closing herself off as sobriety hits her, abrupt and intense. "Done. Let's go."

 

Clary follows her out and touches her arm when she catches up out in the alley. 

Isabelle loses it for a second, then, the loss of the blunting effects of alcohol in her system letting her speed and power out in full force. She's turning back to shove Clary into the wall so fast it's a blur, but Clary moves with it, crashing forward into her mouth, angry and possessive and punishing until they both moan, losing themselves in it. Isabelle leaning into those long fingers--artist's hands--in her hair, the back of her neck, pulling her in and consuming. Opening her legs to pull Isabelle in even closer, hand on the base of her spine holding her in place. Where she belongs. 

The kisses slow down, lingering and heady. Isabelle's heartbeat calms down a fraction, knowing she's not going anywhere. Could never leave when Clary's holding her like this. 

 

"Stop trying to substitute me. I'm already yours. I'm already here," she places a palm over Isabelle's chest, over her heart. Leans forward to kiss the spot on the edge of the neckline of her dress, where the soft curve of her breast gives way under Clary's lips. 

Isabelle watches her with darkening eyes and her mouth open, not even breathing so she won't distract Clary and make her stop. 

 

She doesn't stop.  

Kisses along the edge of Isabelle's dress and looks up to watch her face as she tucks her fingers in under the lace, stroking over a nipple. Isabelle’s breath hitches. She can't even be bothered to care about the way her hips stutter forward into Clary's and her head falls to the side to expose her neck. Her whole body asking for more. 

Clary swallows hard then, hands blurring with speed as she uses both of them to pull down the front of Isabelle's dress and get at her breasts, squeezing, rolling nipples, barely holding back from biting, grazing her teeth on the sensitive tips until Isabelle is aching and desperate, taking one of Clary's hands away to put it up under dress, pushing her panties to the side to guide her fingers in. 

Clary lifts her mouth off Isabelle's breasts enough to watch her face as she strokes her thumb around the edges of the slick folds around the outside, pussy swollen and heated and pushing insistently onto Clary's fingers. 

 

"This is what you want." Her voice is rough, "my hands. My mouth. Me inside you." She kisses up Isabelle's chest and neck to her ear, strokes a deliberate thumb over her clit, "Tell me." 

"I can't." She can't. She doesn't even know what the words are that she can give. 

Clary bites her neck, sucking hard what would become more a bruise than a hickey, and fucks her fingers inside Isabelle, hard enough to rock her back, almost lift her up, and it pulls sounds out of Isabelle so harsh and loud that the whole block could probably hear and she doesn't care.  

"I need it. I need you," she manages, breathing hard and rocking onto Clary's hand, "I can't look at anyone else without seeing you. I can't want anyone else. I--" her thighs shake as Clary focuses on rubbing faster and faster directly on her clit, holding her up as Isabelle slumps bonelessly against her. Her fingers stay solid and unmoving, there to clench around with the aftershocks of orgasm. 

Isabelle moves to bury her face in Clary's neck but she tilts her head to nuzzle their cheeks instead, slowly pulling her fingers out and bringing them up to her mouth, eyes closing as she tastes. Brings them to touch the corner of Isabelle's mouth where her lipstick had smudged, moving to trace over her lips. Isabelle kisses them, arm wrapping around Clary's side and tucking a hand under her jean jacket to palm her hip. How can she be so small but take up the whole world? Hold Isabelle like she's all there is? When will she realize Isabelle might never know what she's supposed to say?

 

"I'll wait until you can tell me." Clary's face is soft, "Don't hide from it, don't go to other people to forget me." 

"It bothers you? Even when you know they don't mean anything?"

Clary gives a strange laugh Isabelle has never heard from her before. "It makes me _insane_."  

"Why?"

"It should be me. Always. It should be me."

 

 


End file.
